


Where Do You Think You Are Going?

by JMount74



Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:27:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26825140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMount74/pseuds/JMount74
Summary: On the run, a failed escape.Would she ever be rescued?Mainly Movie-verse with a touch of TOS.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946881
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Where Do You Think You Are Going?

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at Whumptober
> 
> Prompt 5: Where Do You Think You're Going: On The Run, Failed Escape, Rescue

Her feet hurt. Her chest hurt. 

She was crying, but trying so very, very hard not to make a sound. Running through the jungle and trying to be quiet was not easy.

She had to get away. Get away from here. Get away from him.

Suddenly she tripped on a tree root and lay sprawled face-down on the ground, panting hard to catch her breath, listening to the sounds. The fall had been noisy, and the jungle had quietened with it.

A hand grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. Pulling her close, he hissed in her ear: ‘where do you think you’re going, my sweet?’ Without giving her opportunity to respond or resist, he dragged her back.

On reaching the hut, he threw her back inside, where she fell at her Papa’s feet. Papa picked her up and hugged her tightly, whispering comfort in her ears, that she had not failed them, that she was loved. Mama hugged her when Papa passed her over.

But there was no comfort for the five-year-old here.

Her chest hurt. Her feet hurt. Her arms were full of cuts and grazes from the trees and bushes. She was on the run again.

There were no tears now, she had learnt that lesson the hard way. He had taken half her world away, and if she failed to escape this time – she could lose the other half. But Papa had created the diversion and she had a better chance this time. A chance to get away.

She had almost made it to the clearing where the village was when a black shape bundled into her, knocking her to the ground and winding her. On her back she stared at the figure as it turned around, contempt battling with anger for her in his hazel eyes. Again, he hauled her to her feet, this time back handing her across the face before returning to the hut, history repeating itself.

She found some comfort that her Papa was still with her, but it was no life for an eight-year-old.

The world was falling. She was not running, but her feet hurt, her chest hurt – everything hurt. Her beloved Papa was beside her, but he was unmoving. The shaking of the earth here under the ground was deafening, but when it stopped the sounds of people dying was worse.

She cradled Papa’s head in her lap, grateful that here, at the end, they still had each other. There was the sound of water, of earth giving way, of people screaming; but Papa and herself were in a smaller tunnel. They had been on their way back from seeing him, and not in the main part of the mine.

She hoped the earth had taken him. Just as he had taken her Mama.

Tears were flowing now. Time had lost all meaning, but the sounds of people were dying away. She knew this was the end, and she lay down with her Papa, hugging him as tight as a ten-year-old could. Squeezing her eyes closed, she murmured a Buddhist prayer for strength. 

She slept.

She dreamed.

She dreamt that a tall white man with kind grey eyes had picked up her Papa while another tall man with deep blue eyes had gently lifted her.

She opened her eyes. Her Papa was beside her, holding her hand. The light was bright. She had a vague feeling of others around her, but Papa was kissing her eyes and she fell asleep again. It felt odd, lighter somehow.

The next time she opened her eyes, Papa was talking with the tall man from her dream. Her sharp intake of breath was enough to alert both men to the fact she was awake. Papa came and hugged her. The tall man introduced himself as Jeff, even though Papa called him Mr. Tracy, Sir. 

She buried herself in her Papa. She was shy. She had only known Papa and him. But there was something kind about this Jeff. 

Soon she had been freed from the sick room. She had been given a room and the run of the house. Papa had taken over cooking for Mr. Tracy and his boys. She was very shy around them, she had trouble relaxing, letting go.

It was the eldest one, the one with blue eyes that put her at ease. He told her the words that set her free. Crouching down beside her, careful not to touch her, he said:

‘Tanusha, you don’t have to be afraid. Your uncle is gone, and you will never need to flee again. You will always be safe with us.’

And just like that – she was rescued.


End file.
